Beth Norvell | Page 2

curtain, torn
half in two; the sheet-iron wash-stand; the wooden chair, across which
rested the gray coat with the blue toque on top; and the single cot bed
bearing its unconscious occupant.
Somehow as he gazed, his earliest conscious emotion was that of
sympathy--it all appeared so unspeakably pathetic, so homesick, so
dismally forlorn and barren. Then that half-upturned face riveted his
attention and seemed to awaken a vague, dreamy memory he found
himself unable to localize; it reminded him of some other face he had
known, tantalizing from its dim indistinctness. Then this earlier
impression slightly faded away, and he merely beheld her alone, a
perfect stranger appropriating little by little her few claims to womanly
beauty. There was no certain guessing at her age as she lay thus, one
hand pressed beneath her cheek, her eyes closed, the long, dark lashes

clearly outlined against the white flesh, her bosom rising and falling
with the steady breathing of absolute exhaustion. She appeared so
extremely tired, discouraged, unhappy, that the young man
involuntarily closed his teeth tightly, as though some wrong had been
personally done to himself. He marked the dense blackness of her
heavy mass of hair; the perfect clearness of her skin; the shapeliness of
the slender, outstretched figure; the narrow boot, with its high-arched
instep, peeping shyly beneath the blue skirt; the something rarely
interesting, yet which scarcely made for beauty, revealed unconsciously
in the upturned face with its rounded chin and parted lips.
There was no distinct regularity of features, but there was
unquestionably character, such character as we recognize vaguely in a
sculptured face, lacking that life-like expression which the opened eyes
alone are capable of rendering. All this swept across his mind in that
instant during which he remained irresolute from surprise. Yet Winston
was by nature a gentleman; almost before he had grasped the full
significance of it all he stepped silently backward, and gently closed the
door. For an uncertain moment he remained there staring blankly at the
wood, that haunting memory once again mocking every vain attempt to
associate this girl-face with some other he had known before. Finally,
leaving valise and overcoat lying in the hall, he retraced his way slowly
down the stairs.
"Tom," and the young man leaned against the rough counter, his voice
grown graver, "there chances to be a woman at present occupying that
room you just assigned me."
"No! Is that so?" and the clerk swung easily down from his high stool,
drawing the register toward him. "Must be one of the troupe, then. Let's
see--Number Twenty-seven, was n't it? Twenty-seven--oh, yes, here it
is. That's a fact," and his finger slowly traced the line as he spelled out
the name, "'Miss Beth Norvell.' Oh, I remember her now--black hair,
and a long gray coat; best looker among 'em. Manager said she 'd have
to be given a room all to herself; but I clean forgot I assigned her to
Twenty-seven. Make much of a row?"
The other shook his head, bending down so as to read the name with

his own eyes. There was nothing in the least familiar about the sound of
it, and he became faintly conscious of an undefined feeling of
disappointment. Still, if she was upon the stage, the name quite
probably was an assumed one; the very utterance of it left that
impression. He walked over toward the cigar stand and picked out a
weed, thinking gravely while he held a flaming match to the tip.
Somehow he was not altogether greatly pleased with this information;
he should have preferred to discover her to be some one else. He
glanced at the clerk through the slight haze of blue smoke, his
increasing curiosity finding reluctant utterance.
"What troupe is it?" he questioned with seeming carelessness.
"'Heart of the World,'" answered Tom with some considerable increase
of enthusiasm. "A dandy play, and a blamed good company, they tell
me. Got some fine press notices anyhow, an' a carload o' scenery.
Played in Denver a whole month; and it costs a dollar and a half to buy
a decent seat even in this measly town, so you can bet it ain't no slouch
of a show. House two-thirds sold out in advance, but I know where I
can get you some good seats for just a little extra. Lane is the star. You
've heard of Lane, have n't you? Funniest fellow you ever saw; makes
you laugh just to look at him. And this--this Miss Norvell, why she's
the leadin' lady, and the travellin' men tell me she's simply immense.
There's one of their show bills hanging over there back of the stove."
Winston sauntered across to the indicated red and yellow abomination,
and dumbly stood staring at it through the blue